


Chaos Within Order

by nigellecter



Series: What is Unseen is Love Eternal (Kaecilius x Wanda) [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8451901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigellecter/pseuds/nigellecter
Summary: “We adore chaos because we love to produce order.” - M.C. EscherKaecilius / WandaRp thread between scarlctgoddness and kaeciliusthezealct (little-lady-lecter and nigellecter).





	1. Chapter 1

It’s one of those rare days his brain is so quiet, _ an absence of thought,  _ so rare to come about in the midst of such tumultuous years of his past, now unperturbed by the incessant sounds, ricocheting within the membranes of his brain. His memories like fireflies, always sacrificing his own damned corporeality to emit such infinite points of light, yet it wasn’t by his choice. It was a predestined fate, and on the other side, there was him, desperately trying to find the meanings beyond the struck tragedy.  _ How many times had he come across cadaverous bones, gnawed beyond recognition and sorrowful gazes of his beloved ones gazing into the abyss of his soul?  _ With every stolen glances towards Adria and his son, barely walking as he still had remembered the small webs of his fingers forming stars upon his rusted skin, an expected result of numerous battles and triumphs as he stood over his nemeses,  _ victorious _ . 

Yet, no amount of caressing sun and his intense training to possibly search for the better answers; it could be something physical, psychological, spiritual, all combination of those things. Of course, there are certain  _ tensions within those capacities _ ; he’s disrespectful, arrogant and rigidly stubborn, though he had surpassed what his mentor ever could expect him from. Immortality and destruction through interdimensional realm, the moment he set forth his mind, all the accumulated training seemed to intertwine as his rapturous soul sought immediate means. Every time they peered into his destitute soul, no matter how hard he tried to look away, twist and turn as night came and darkness fell in wretchedness, his thoughts were fixated solely on them. _ How could he ever reunite with them and seek peace of his mind upon such calamity? _ He believed in the better world, a world without human tragedy and suffering as grief had been tattooed over the chambers of his heart.

So this particular thought starts to invade the recesses of his mind;  _ What if he could cross the dimensions, the law of physics, his physique?  _ Outside of the mirror dimension, where he could go beyond conjuring up weapons, shielding himself from threats, looming dangers, etc. The complexity itself brought on both of his suppressed fear and eagerness to absorb such destructive responsibility, yet it continues to lurk within him. And most importantly, it is enough to transcend his own incredible, passionate curiosity and burning desire to revert time, which would be another dam collapsing as it could lead to irrepairable consequences as other dimensional beings could invade the earthly sanctums. Even when everything shatters and he would stand within the invisible walls, lost forever as he was playing with such forbidden realm where everything could crumble down, and because his impetus within the mirror dimension had already given him enough training as it is, the dreams continue to take root deep inside and demand that he flourish it further. 

So with all of his extensive search and words carried upon by his fervorous followers, he’s able to locate a certain someone named ‘Scarlet Witch.’ He’s in his usual combinations, layers of different-colored robes and sash. as the sparkling circular portal conjures and the gap widens for him to enter through the dimmed darkness. For he wants to bend and warp reality with magic, making buildings fold it on themselves and streets bend and curve in impossible directions like M.C. Escher’s, as if looking through the world in multiple viewpoints. The world like Rubik’s Cube in the hands of an impatient child, spinning through the perspective if he’d been locked in trippy hallucinations. A woman is sitting in the corner in the midst of cold, concrete-surrounded room and immediately, he feels oppressed. Almost suffocating, even. Where his magic would have no power. 

“You’re the conjurer of hexes, I heard you could manipulate objects, create force fields and deflect magical attacks and an expert combatant as well,” he mentions as a matter-of-factly, in the midst of a whirlwind and soft sighs upon his part. A deja-vu moment when he had desperately searched for Kamar-Taj in Kathmandu, Nepal. “You look like you lost something dear to your heart. Grief-stricken, as mystic arts could be savage. How I wish my boiling blood to not cause my eyes to slide back to my brain, to make my mind empty and overly occupied with the thoughts of that beloved.” Sauntering towards her and stopping to arrange his garb, he sits cross-legged, opposite her with a good amount of distance in between them. “Please, teach me your ways, as I’m along the edge of what is most sacred.”

___

She is  _ tired. _ There is little she thinks about other than her own personal weariness, both of the body and heart. As she had been taught by the members of her own community, meditation was the way to seek inner peace and solace, calling upon it time and time again when her mind and body were weary from traveling or fighting, or even communicating with members of her community. In this place where she sat, she and several other  _ mutants _ such as herself had liberated nearly thirty children from Hydra’s grasp, and now it was the place she chose to seek peace for a few, precious moments.

_Mutants,_ beings both dangerous and benevolent alike. She was acutely aware of her power, what it meant to be _the Scarlet Witch_ in this world, whether or not she wanted to be known simply for her power. She did not think of herself as a wise being, or any sort of all-knowing entity. Wanda Maximoff merely wanted to know peace. A life that she knew she could live by her own standards and volition. Wherever seeking that path may one day follow, she was committed to it until the very end.

But peace wasn’t an option when her friends and family were being threatened every single day.

In her trance, she did not sense the being approaching her until his footsteps were heard amidst the empty cell where she sat in isolation. Her first response was curiosity, then irritation upon finding this being, this  _ man _ dared interrupt her during the only time she had to herself in what felt like eons. Her eyes snapped open, and suddenly she was gazing at a man who practically trembled with power and untapped potential. Wonder and curiosity burned behind his eyes, a desire of self-fulfillment and dangerous yearning to  _ become.  _ Wanda felt it burn in the air between them.

“You seek me out in search of power,” she stated, speaking slowly as she lowered her hands from her knees and onto the floor. She knew this man, for he was familiar if not exactly  _ a friend _ . “You seek revolution… _ control.” _

Wanda narrowed her eyes. “And you pretend as if you know me, know who I am and what I stand for. That is your first mistake,  _ Kaecilius.”  _ Wanda hissed his name like a harrowed curse. How dare he speak of her grief? Red burned in her eyes, as she sought to cool her impending anger. Even if his intentions were  _ benevolent, _ which Wanda was doubting more and more with each passing second, she would not allow herself to be analyzed by a creature such as himself.

“You cross a dangerous line. Tell me who sent you, why they sent you, and who you really are before I force it out of you myself.”


	2. Chapter 2

The meditative stance only serves him bluntly, his ashy palms would still kindle with the kinetic energy, that faint orange glow from the coppery, outstretched fingers blurring in rapid motion. As if he wasn’t swirled by the colors of irritable evocations of his yearning dreams into a nightmare with the snap of the fingers and he would be buried within the white avalanches of duvet burying him whole, or his astral body would snap him out of the flurrying reverie with a lift. As his memories embedded within his encompassing and widening expanse of aura, he was rolling along with the harshness of cold emotions, bundled and discharged in animalistic breaths and stubborn thoughts of his past that continues to fuel, yet hinder his training. When everything feels as if scripted, instead of living his true life in carpe diem, how could he be at solemn peace with himself? Emotions don’t feel real, especially contentment and genuine delightedness. 

A long while, he had been tired of playing the part where his life pushed forward. More accurately, the life itself pushed him forward, when he wished to be stagnant. He wasn’t the one who had been pummeled down to the ground, limbs dashed to the ground and even before then, the soul had already left the emptiness of the phantom physicality. 

Even when he had been without any hesitations, he hadn’t ever dared to delve himself into the Book of Cagliostro; the book far too advanced for most at Kamar-Taj, even to the Master as himself. Its focus upon the darker side of mysticism was enough to magnetize him, yet the tales of numerous students who lost their way entirely. That sole reason would not have deterred him from pursuing his desires, lest the woman before him, emitting such voltage of immeasurable energy, swelling towards the corner of the room fallen beneath pitch-black dimness. 

_ What if that conglomerating energy could be his own drug, injected through his veins as he watches those desensitizing drops turn into dribbles, a surge of unadulterated mystic energy become a drowning downpour? _ Some nights he would be still encumbered by the room with a thousand cobwebs, entwined to snare him in such petrified gloom in his entirety, but he was beyond that know; not anymore, since the steps that led him to here and now would signify into a song rich in his morals. He wouldn’t simply tapping into unlimited source of energy and feeding as if it was his own. 

His pale eyebrows come together in a wide-angled V as he spots the individual of his relegation. With a swish of his arms, as his own aura becomes a scalding notes of dancing silhouettes, and with a series of slow flicking motions, then with the stretch of his hands, he produces his own emblematic aegis upon the atmosphere. “The two concept that had been fled away from me, but not anymore,” his grim-eyed, unblinking, unconscionable and broody hazel fixates upon her and his uncertainty folds. “Not an ounce of pretension, Wanda, I know of your past. You just lost your dear twin. I’ve lost my unborn child and wife.” Disregarding the venom in her voice, he utters as a matter-of-factly; he might be a warm-blooded creature, but his heart had been a hardened stone while in training. Only in training. 

“I sent myself and you already spoke of my intentions. Quite breathtaking, isn’t it, knowing you have that sort of magnetism that could ensorcell uncharted energy and cause havoc upon the world and its spectators. I wish to learn that as I build the world atop the ruins.” 

___

Wanda withheld from her previous plan to send him off with a  _ painful _ warning not to intrude upon her private space again. While she still refused to trust him (there was something intrusive about his presence; she couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin), she felt the chaos magic in her fingertips dim, her seething rage cool itself enough to speak without erupting into light and raw force. She was no monster, even if she couldn’t say the same for him just yet.

“You presume I seek to end the world. That is foolish. I am not a crazed lunatic, Kaecilius. And no matter what your true intentions be, I will not offer my wisdom to somebody who’s intentions I do not trust.” Her gaze softened, but she continued to keep her guard up and at the ready. “I don’t sense maliciousness about you, Kaecilius. I do not think you wish to hurt anybody. But you let your grief blind you into thinking you need to seek answers where you will find none.”

She wouldn’t talk of Pietro. Not now, perhaps not ever to this man. This  _ sorcerer _ . Peitro’s death was of nobody’s business but hers. She, too, had been blinded by grief, seeking to end mutant-kind when Pietro fell to her feet. How close had she become? It frightened her how willing she was, once, to destroy the world as she knew it. The  _ House of M _ had not fallen through, and Pietro had lost his life.

“You are dangerous, and if not for the fact that I can see your curious, it not entirely benevolent, intentions, I would kill you where you stand.” Wanda sighed, before continuing. “You have given yourself to the wrong path…why do you seek to end a world that has done you no wrong? It was not the world’s fault your family died. That is but fate.”

_ Fate which I will refuse to alter, no matter if I have the power to do so. This man is a child, confused by the world’s cruelties if I have him figured out as such. _

“I’ve heard your story, much as you already know mine. Understand that I know your grief, Kaecilius. You are not the only one plagued by suffering. But separating your grief from your anger will put you back on the path of righteousness…unless I am mistaken in your intentions entirely.”

_ I doubt that very, very much. _


	3. Chapter 3

He could sense the butting energy; not exactly  _ malicious _ , not even  _ contumelious _ , yet the tides had been wrought upon in the shadows of contouring shapes upon the stillness of his torso. While his tightly pinched brows ease as his limbs poses akimbo in place with the juxtaposed latticework of his design. How many times had he been deterred, and be disappointed with ‘almosts?’ He almost won, she almost survived, he almost made it to the championship round, he almost had the mystic spell beneath the grasp of his fingers and…  _ failed _ . 

As the fortress of this space which he occupies in rises so high that the imprisoned luminosity upon his lunacy deters him from getting the glimpse of the sun; there’s the etched darkness upon his forehead, and the lonely buttress he had built out of his tears, gashes, and howl of anguish become something of a perpetuity. 

The vanishing traces of the heat clings onto his skin and becomes molasses upon the back of his hands, like a diminishing echo. The wasted moments as his sculpted identity chisels away with the onslaught of darkness, blanketing him in. “Why wouldn’t you, think of the ones who hurled stinging words and stones to flagellate you mutants. Another tomorrow, yet another of enduring through such pestilence. Remember who killed  _ Pietro _ ,” eyes snap open, and becomes piercing series of jabs through the tumultuous air, brimming with whirling watercolors;  _ bleeding, spilling, intractable. _ Swirling with sharpness and clarity. 

“Who had concocted such a lethal combination, the one guaranteed to bring all the mutants? The mass of humanity, the embodiment of hypocrisies with all of their disputable vagaries and surge of tides. Thinking they are in a possession of such indestructible power that would send such wrecking vibrations,” he feels something inside him combust, and that’s when his supersensible transparency, wavering beneath his outstretched limb become pliable.  

The wretched calamity and his own memorial upon the empty carapace of his mind had dug so deep to uproot his existence and disintegrated the soul in whole as his blood would fester and boil through the viscera, until ejected to paint the terra-cotta earth whole. _ How long had he let such preternatural disquietude turn him against such combusting vengeance? _ Dark, caved eyes penetrate through her, seemingly slowly picking her apart by layer. 

His spine crackles as a sheet of ice does, tingling even beneath his garb as his aura becomes the bulging sphere of dark and steel-spiked air. “If my unfortunate wife and son had been reduced to a mere fleck of stardust, traveling through the vastness of the space, I would make myself the messenger of darkness, make that grief and anger irrelevant, as death and time as dimensions crumble, merge together in nihilistic dehumanization. I seek to end the Earth of that unfortunate contagion; of that  _ deep resentment _ .” His remorseless manifesto reverberates through the shadows of his soul, where his bone structure becomes perfectly defined, as he seeks immortality.  _ But wouldn’t he justify the means of killing, in an excuse of cleansing the Earth?  _

___

Wanda gave him a long, lingering stare. He was challenging her, wasn’t he? Surely he must be. Already in possession of something greater than himself, still yet to be fully recognized. He was a strange man; that much could be said. Wanda had no desire to fulfill a zealot’s fantasy of mass destruction, whether he was  _ willfully _ seeking such measures or not…she felt that she could potentially stir something malevolent within him.

“As all magic-wielders must learn, merely possessing power is not enough. We must learn to control ourselves, or else we are no better than the creatures and men we must protect ourselves from. I know that I will never be able to yield the full extent of my abilities for just that reason. I would be a fool to attempt such a dangerous thing.again…”

Wanda took a deep breath.

“Now, I will ask you but  _ one time _ not to speak of my brother,” she warned. “His passing is my business and it is for no one to speak of or to pretend to understand. My business with my brother’s killers is mine.  _ Nobody _ else’s.” She held him in a steady gaze until she was sure he understood.

Wanda’s gaze softens as she looks past him, staring at the wall behind them. She’d rather not revisit such a past. It was pointless. Unnecessarily cruel to herself.  _ Tiring. _ She had forced forgiveness upon herself for the mistakes she had made. To dwell was to be weak, and to be weak was to suffer. Kaecilius, she saw, was suffering. She did not trust him, but his mind was was a canvass of thoughts and echoing sorrows, calling out into a meaningless void that he could not understand.

“Do you meditate?” she asked. “It’s one of the most useful things I have ever been taught.” A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered her teacher. “It clears the mind, mends the soul…helps you breathe and process and find inner strength in times of weakness. It is no cure for a wounded soul, but it is a first step in learning to take back control of one’s mind and inner thoughts.”


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a certain looming sense of violence, and his curled fingers, folded and levitated in front of him like an indelible ink streak, suspended in air as the aura around him stirs. Even in his meditative solace, his mystic energy soared and surged like the song that wasn’t meant to be sung; it was like a lullaby to him, as reality blurred and all the forged boundaries muddled. Yet, others could irrevocably feel the change of charged atmosphere in an instant. A wibbling quiver becomes an sempiternal repetition of bursting anger, and his skin stretches so tight upon his limbs in an unstable and uncomfortable energy. 

“I can control myself well enough, yet, there’s moment that my chest feels as if the cavity is caving in, and though my limbs are nimble, they feel gripped. As if an unknown force had rushed past me to ablaze in an inextinguishable flame,” his voice blasts out against the walls, bounces back and groans like the spilling sap of the tree and his only rational is that his power - ever-concentrated with both grief and resentment - had turned indispensable and irreplaceable to him. “There is a certain  _ forbidden _ practice, that no incapable one would withheld. It would contain too much power to be retained by someone who doesn’t fully comprehend the mystic arts and I intend to steal it.” 

As his own master had been a hypocrite, greedily drawing powers from the source of her immortality. How many times he had seen splitting, endless spray of crimson splatter beneath the epidermal as screams of agony, ravaging stream of blood become the celebration to justify all of his killings to himself by claiming that his ends justified the means. That alone and his delusion of serving greater means, undying presence with solemn devotion. He would retain no more scars of the desecration, and be tarnished with desolation of the secular world. 

“Then you know how gripped your  _ physicality _ , the energy you circulate through your limbs expand and swell as if they’re going to burst you open. I’m intrinsically powerful, yet I feel like a colliding star beneath the light upon the break of dawn. No one would witness my implosion, I would see the whole universe be shrouded with the idea of reconciliation and ceasing mortality.  _ You with your dead brother, me with my own dead family.  _ Think how beautiful it would be to fill your empty mind with all the scattered stardust that was previously love.” He was bleeding, through the cracked orbs and his soul on fire, charged and frantic, then the loved ones are all bleeding out of his veins and onto his extension; a rippling force becomes a funnel cone, projecting out from him as he abruptly stands.   

Each jumpy ebb confirming its baneful existence, his own, crumbled reality upon a concept so-called fate. Shattered remnants hang by threads, spawning traces of pre-existing strands of memories as he plucks the stake off from his heart, letting it become septic. Lashing out beneath the aid of distorted blurriness, even more intensified by the intoxication, he was still an amateur with such instrument of virtuoso after all those years of training. As a former boxer, he had high streaks of triumphant victories, which was enough on its own to boost his unattainable ego, yet as his damaged orbs sought to end it all, but his old ingrained habits died hard. Within each jagged brokenness of the shards, his own arrogance would stab him in the back to become coarse and gritty, turning them into needles with rising decibel within his mind. He must have reminded himself countless times, yet he continued to fail;  _ for this isn’t his predestined course. _

___

“You are a curious man, Kaecilius.” Wanda’s gaze was neutral. Curious, even, as she folded her hands into her lap. Did she yearn to tap into the reserves of her power?  _ Of course. _ Ever inch of her ached to see her true potential and what she could do, what she could only picture in her dreams. But the very idea of becoming the type of person she feared most kept her at bay. The idea of losing control over something so precious to her. She knew not of the extent of her powers, which frightened her. Did she possess the ability to bend and change the world at her whim? To warp and alter the world around her as she saw fit?

It was entirely possible, even if she wouldn’t dare do anything so drastic. Still, when men like Kaecilius sought her out in pursuit of better understanding themselves, she grew suspicious. Men in power…it was something that reminded her deeply of her father and not something she wanted to further expand upon. But Kaecilius sought answers. Answers that she could provide, even if his knowledge of her was deeply disturbing in it’s depth and accuracy that she could not even admit to herself.

“Well…let me see what you are capable of.”

Wanda stood abruptly, raising her hands to the level of her chest. Her palms burned red and she thrust out her arm, sending a powerful orb of red magic at the wall. With a loud rumble, the orb shot through the wall, leaving a large, gaping hole in its wake. Curling her fingers, she rose several feet from the ground, her fingertips glowing with bright, red power. Extending her arms, Wanda sent fourth two shields from her palms, holding them before her. She held it at bay in her steady hands, even though she ached to do more. 

“You are welcome to avert your abilities to me, if you wish. I can handle it.” She gave him a small smile. “If you have some sort of “moral adversary” (she said this with very apparent sarcasm) to attacking women, I’d encourage you to let that go. It is weak to assume women are too fragile to be hit, especially when in the face of danger.”

She would be very honest in that she felt much freer when using her abilities as opposed to not, much more  _ alive. _ Kaecilius was a challenge, but not the type that she feared for her life over. If this man was certain in his aspirations to seek his true potential, Wanda at least wanted to see where he stood. What had he learned in the face of grief, if that was his true motivation?


	5. Chapter 5

_ How many of those nights did he have to witness, where the nightmares had brought the untamed beast within him, with gleaming and gnarling teeth? _ As his heart macerates by the jagged shards, formed by such pleasurous memories of the past that had been his sole, rarefied rabidity, he had tortured himself like a madman in order to desire. It would be better to gauge them out in chunks than going after fragmented pieces coursing through the veins. And with such untapped energy slicing away all the parts of him one at a time, until there had been nothing left, but bones and peeled layers of skin as nothing was left until his ravaged body became a crimson waterfall. If he hadn’t been so full of emptiness and his thoughts became a strain of disease, mind full of rot as his beloved plummeted him in misery and isolation, the cold, calm and raging fire surging within him all at once to consume him in superlative  _ theatricality  _ would’ve already brought him to the zenith of greatness. 

At least the razor blades lodged in his throat and Atlas-like grief had been lifted with his recent ordination of such coveted title;  _ the Master of the Mystic Arts _ . His commitment and such fevered emotions towards fueled love with such wild and untamed inevitability as he backtracked the memory of his true love with every step, he had conquered every herculean challenges posed in front of him and prevailed. Since Baron Mordo lead him to the Ancient one, he had undergone such extreme measures, yet there had been no such thing as  _ great suffering, regret, memories _ ….everything simply refused to be forgotten, even a great love. If it wasn’t for that, those alone would have long turned into ice picks to his heart, jeopardizing his training. 

And he was tired of having been duplicated, as if cheated with Babel tower of lies and he could only do so much. Doesn’t mean that he’s not trying enough or he’s incapable.

Legitimately, a curl of his lips confirm that he wasn’t simply butting heads with the one like his hypocritical  _ former _ -master. Surely, there had been room to grow and expand. However it would take himself to blossom to his fullest potential, through the meditation, he feels his soul become emergent with such concept, where his physicality doesn’t stop from the boundary he retains upon like a speck of dust within the multiverse. Spinning through those dimensions and through the peering weapon of his hazel, he would form an aegis upon the penetrative force of reality, a burden and bitter cynicism which still continued to haunt him after being grief-stricken and having been destroyed.

“You shall witness it soon enough.” 

Through the dissipated sunlight of the golden column entering through the crumbled hole, his own specks of hazel alights further, as he stands still, lips conjuring the spell of accumulated flames, which garners through the tip of his finger, growing like an unbearable heat. Nothing is gender-specific when it comes to exerting his destructible power, which would send such wrecking vibrations, ripping forth from the wielder’s hands to the victim’s heart, the wretched calamity digging so deep to uproot one’s existence. He knew Wanda could very well handle it, or he wouldn’t be standing on with such extension, as he watches the bundle of tumultuous conglomeration sink towards her, sending waves of comb-like bursts onto her levitated form.   

___

_ He is much like a thunder cloud. Eruption, chaos, deep-held anger directed into a force of lightning.  _ She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, other than her own confidence in that she would be able to, at worst, defend herself without any significant damage. There is endless emotion in his form and in his deliverance. It made him easy to predict. With a forceful wave of her hands, she deflects the attack before it can hit her, causing the energy to dissipate into molecular particles. That attack may have been emotion-driven, but it was strong nonetheless.

“Good,” she said, taking no issue in showing that she was just a little bit impressed. Still above ground, Wanda smiled and curled her fingers, forming a ball of chaos energy between her palms. True to her legacy, the mass glowed bright-red, capable of ripping through concrete if need be. 

“Your emotions make you childlike and easy to predict,” she told him. She sent the orb soaring in his direction, an effective counter-attack had she really planned to kill him. “Learn to breathe, to control yourself, or else every attack will only be a product of what you are feeling. Anger is uncontrollable, Kaecilius. Passion is the driving force behind true control.”

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes before releasing it from her nose. “Passion for the art. Passion for your ability. You have light inside of you.. Embrace it.” She sent another, then another, then another, forcing him to think on his feet lest he be slammed against the concrete wall by sheer force. She was toying with him, quite possible enjoying seeing him run and dance beneath her, but he held her interest now. A power that strong was something to be controlled.

This was where she knew she needed to yield. Should she allow herself to use her powers at whim, she would surely kill him without meaning. This was about seeing what  _ he _ could do, not about breaking his bones. She wanted him to match her in this fight, until he could do it without assistance.

“Your move. Hit me harder, this time.”


	6. Chapter 6

A jolt of exhilaration and pain hits him, like those evenings when a cool air of spring would caress him and it would become a screaming wind against the wilderness of the woods and his bare body. Amid all the pillars of the sanctuary and brass statues as he meditated in futile short sessions, cooped up with the stuffy air of the summer, ultimately, he would seek the higher grounds, as he loomed over all the existing, accumulated things like a memoir. If he was to infinitely reassure himself and to revive that rousing excitement to touch the surface of every nature and his skin, as his manifested emotions become the hurtling dance within the tumultuous aura around him, about to expand with such furor and a constant frenzy, he would have to intoxicate himself in that very fundamentality. Completely drunk, yelling, the pivotal point in releasing of his bundled up charge. 

There had been no time for disappointment and looking back. He’s used to being complimented and no words of assurance would have his broken soul piece and mend together in whole and his previous deliverance simply wasn’t enough. Even when he isn’t looking up at her to look through the bundle of energy that would be a frisson upon anyone in the wake of its projectile, he still senses that expanding energy that would freeze time and space for an infinite second where his world would churn and blaze, as his mind becomes as stirred up and abstruse as the projected outcome. 

He’s pedantic, with a quite condescending manner, which extends when he’s practicing mysticism. For anger is ungainly and hidebound; it had already infected his mind and made it his home, multiplying, overpowering and all-consuming. And he knows it’s another one of those given challenges he simply needs to overcome and he’s parasitic to that energy, which will either leave him feeling empty or on the verge of breaking. 

Frantic tips sketch latticework upon his frontier, as the trailing lines sweep through him and forms a protective barrier. The first impact sends the tip of his boots to crackle into the concrete floor and expanding bright red collides and sparks with faint orange, and craters form upon his spherical defense. Though graceless, he’s motoring beneath her with accumulated bruised cuts and they reveal their purpose; to let his achilles’ heel not subdue him, but to identify and suppress that temper to let his expanding energy become unadulterated. 

It’s where his passion and anger comes in collision and instead of it becoming a correlational energy that would multiply and skyrocket, it becomes a hindrance. It’s when it sucks the color out of him and his journey becomes black and white again, instead of being an amalgamation of all shades. Through the rubble and smoke, soon, he’s hurling his duel-wielding scythe, and translucent blades, forming parallel to his radius as they leave his fingertips. 

___

His strength lied in his physical prowess; that much, Wanda was unable to match in. She was strong, but the blunt force of his last attack, while still predictable, knocked her straight out of the air and to the ground where she thudded to her feet, one hand out in front of her to steady herself. Keeping her eyes centered on him, her mouth curved into a smile, chest rising and falling as she worked to catch her breath. Her hands glowed, her eyes aflame with a burning red that glowed whenever she was using her powers to her fullest ability. He was an interesting challenge, yet part of her was urging him on. She wanted him to beat her, but he was not there yet.

“Good,” she said after a moment. “You are strong. I can see your grip tightening even now. But you will always be as predictable as your emotions show upon your face. The source of your light should never be anger…nor regret, nor confusion. I see that you will learn fast, though. Until then…”

Thrusting her hand to the ground, she sent red tendrils of magic through the concrete, cracking and sending sharp tremors through the floor where Kaecilius stood. Pouring her energy into the ground, the sheer force of the miniature ‘earthquake’ she had created was enough to send Kaecilius to his knees. Curling her fingers, Wanda carefully guided the red tendrils up Kaecilius’s form and around his wrists and ankles, binding him with her own chains to the floor from where they emerged. With a satisfied smile, Wanda stood, keeping her grip on the magic steady, walking over to where he knelt so that she could look down upon him.

“I win. And you are still weak. But you will learn.” Wanda smiled. “As much as I would like to keep you here until you figure out how to break free, I don’t think that would work well for either of us.” She relaxed her hand. The chains unwound themselves from his body and disappeared into the earth. “And I wouldn’t need you getting the wrong idea.”


	7. Chapter 7

Neck muscles tighten, as each part of his body slowly begins to awaken, yet at the same time, weighed heavily by the showy, perfunctory performance. All the strain encumbers his limbs and getting his own medicine as the vigor robs from himself. It’s like shattered fragments had been churning in his stomach as spells catch in his throat. The delivery of the hurtled blow makes him jaded, and though it could’ve contained within the confines of a minimal radius, his energy, which holds his footing captive through the deeply rooted legs digging further into the layers of concrete, becomes  _ atmospheric _ and that makes him even more so readable and  _ vulnerable _ . 

As the backside of his scythes collide and penetrate through the scarlet force that surrounds Wanda like celestial wonders, he could feel his constricted breath leave him, a deep, fluttering breath out through his ajar lips. Not once he had been challenged by a supreme power (as he felt cheated and didn’t regard the Ancient One as his equal), which reads him like a book and like Wanda mentions, his grip upon the dual-wielding weapon tightens. Cords tighten around his garb with clinging moisture, as he pivots. Without a shadow of a doubt, he could never underestimate Wanda’s power with absolute certainty. Such an intense connection along millions of variables where his own blood and sweat surge and stir him within, the anger itself causes his own spells to be choppy and curt, instead of letting it flow with fluidity. 

Damp ponytail smacks his face and the light retracts from his sunken hazel; full of decaying memories of happiness, wilting and death in a garden full of blossoms and already faded serenade of dead love. It both had been his blessing and a curse, as his darkness had become his venomous torture, yet the surging drive as he fueled himself with stinging wounds and stained tears. 

He’s rather offended with the remark as more emotion etches through his aquiline features. “You sound as if I need to devoid of the things that drive me whole. I don’t wallow in the whirlpool, I become it, all the angst, sorrow and confusion, they’re mine to deal with.” 

Held captive by the ricocheted energy she shoots through the fissuring grounds that encumbers him whole, limbs pull behind him even when his butting resistance makes his entire form to quiver. A terrible place to be, as his peering gaze sweeps over his restrained form, up to where Wanda stands. As he shifts his legs uncomfortably to liberate himself, his hazel wet with unshed tears that he wasn’t really going to shed, retracts as he mumbles a spell, then gives up in mid-way. “Why did you let me go, you should’ve left me there,” his diaphanous eyes harden and his jaw sets tight. “If that method of yours could make me learn, I don’t see why the resolve to call it off so quick.” His eyes are red and tired, etched with torpor as his body seems to fall asleep. 

___

“I never said to let go of what drives you to seek the answers you desire,” she said. “Merely to not let it  _ control _ you. One is never wise to let go of what has shaped him…or her. But to capture that emotion and turn it into passion and knowledge? That is the true test of mankind, Kaecilius. So often we confused motivation with emotion-fueled rage. They should be separated.”

Taking a deep breath, Wanda paused for a moment to cool the seething embers in her core, still burning bright red with a desire to wreak destruction and allow herself to burst apart with raw power. It was such a desire she had since learned to ebb and control, less she destroy everyone she once knew. It was to be expected, and thus easy to maintain. This was her her basic desire to retain her humanity, not not allow herself to be potentially utilized by any outside force for ultimate destruction. If she truly was a ticking time-bomb, it would be she alone who determined when she would blow.

“Perhaps you are different,” she mused as she knelt in front of him. “Men like you might need their rage and desperation to maintain control. I’d fear you live a miserable life that way, though.” She stood, and offered her hand in an offer of peace. A truce. 

“If you’d like me to go harder, I can. I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than was necessary for a simple training exercise. Potentially vaporizing your molecules wasn’t the way I thought you would learn best, but then again I am not so in-tune with the mind of a masochistic zealot.” Wanda’s mouth curved into a smile. “Are you skilled in weaponry, Kaecilius? That is a medium I’ve never considered a need to explore given what I was born with. Being able to summon such a weapon is a very fascinating skill.”


	8. Chapter 8

There’s still a correlational distance, where his unmatched desires and dreams separate from  _ cynicism _ coursing through his vile blood and all those luscious, sweet tentacles of aura become dissolved ink blotches as the steady thrum of his power becomes a dissipating reflection in water. He lets it absorbed back into him, both  _ destroy _ and  _ mend _ him whole as his constricted chest releases a heap of air. He solely focuses on the sensation, not the  _ defeat _ itself. That familiar sensation of a big mess of hurricane settling, and it becomes more saturated rush of waves as his mind stores the snapshots of the training deep in the recess of his memory. 

_ How many times he has gone into oblivion, where he teetered along the edge of the precipice, waiting to plummet over bliss and drown as let crass thoughts devour him?  _ That bright orange glow of his ejected energy, becoming wild blossoming flowers as they effervesce from his heart as the thrum matches that of the potent sweetness of adrenaline weaving through the brain cells. 

“Then  _ teach _ me,” his darkened gaze shoots intense daggers as his gaze ascends to meet hers as his jaw sets. The hardest thing to achieve is to be himself where the expectation of himself and and  _ vile _ contempt towards the humanity to ignite and fuel those tracing memories of his beloved. All those years, didn’t he prowl enough to fulfill and be enraptured within the glorious triumph, of finally grasping his commanding instinct to accept that rudimental energy to become the thickening streaks of cumulated power, unleashed upon his fingertips to be the virtuoso architect upon the world? “If I could make this long-raging wildfires to scorch the earth and translate into raw power within me, I would grow  _ smoldering _ , just like how you are… with precious core blossoming like an untamed beast.” 

Bewitching, yet unidentifiable chill of the sinking silence seeps through his limbs, still, he could feel the menacing front of the tendrils shooting through him like a bullet. He could feel the droplets leave his semi-permanent trace upon his creased robes as beamish hazel both revels in the power and there’s a hint of prevarication, but nevertheless, his fingers entwine with Wanda’s in a peace offering. It still is a  _ venial _ offense, to admit defeat. 

“A valiant show of forbearance, or a weak circumspect choice for  _ mercy _ ?” A coursing tremor wrecks through his petrified limbs as his lungs become coiled like a rattlesnake. And even more so, it radiates further as he feels the expanse of his skin tremble in both fury and frustration. Lips snarl as the caved hollowness of his orbs drill a hole upon her features. “I don’t require a conventional weaponry to defend myself, but  _ yes _ , I’m trained in forming both duel-wielding and double-handed weapons.” 

___

“I see your ego is as big as your desire for true understanding. So be it.”

Wanda began to cast a different spell, similar to what she had done before. Extending her hands, she focused the tendrils of red magic  _ into _ the fibers of his skin, instead of around his limbs like binding ropes. While the spell was more taxing to Wanda’s physical and mental stamina, it was also more  _ painful _ for the party subject to the spell. Wanda could feel her grip on his bones and muscles tightening and she forced him back down to the ground, breathing heavily as she forced him to his knees. She could  _ feel  _ him struggling. He may have been stronger, but Wanda had better focus. Better control.

“Now  _ get up, _ ” she said icily. “This is me teaching you.” Wanda curled her fingers, sending his body into a rigid, muscular lock. “Explode! Become so angry that your body erupts into light and explosive force. Break my bond. Don’t wait until I am too tired to hold you any longer.  _ Get up! Break free! _ ”

The witch’s face was bright red from exertion. Admittedly, she was aggravated that he insisted on doing things his way and yet begged her to be his guide. She was funneling her aggression down on him to prove a point. But if this was what he wanted, this is what she would give. With a cry, she forced his legs out from under him until he was sprawled on the ground under the crushing weight of her exhaustive spell. Focusing her breathing, she channeled oxygen through her nose and out her mouth, keeping her focus. She no longer cared if she was hurting him. He would either figure out how to break free, become so angry that he would simply erupt like a sleeping volcano, or be left with many broken bones for months to come.

But she had an idea—perhaps if he truly could not guide himself into power, he would need to utilize his emotional charge to create the power he sought himself.

“Channel your aggression into my energy. Set it alight. Do not allow yourself to be held captive like a common animal. Simple weapons won’t save you now, will they?!  _ Your wife would be ashamed of you! Now. Get. UP!” _


	9. Chapter 9

There would be no fighting it, it’s not only his vision that swirls like a whirling vortex, consuming everything in its awake as his consciousness hangs by a fraying thread. Summoning his willpower, he lets his somatic response go as dribbling drops of rudimental energy, scalding against his whitened knuckles, his tenacious hold still onto the grip of his scythes, aglow copper as they match his veined skin. He could scent the rising smoke, that incorrigible bitterness and pungent odor emitting off of him and charred sweetness against the fortified amaranthine element. The strands of muscles along his bent arm locks in an exquisite paroxysm. It might be a nature’s stimulant. Even more potent than the virulent venom he shoots through the unwavering hazel. He might be bent over, but he’s not on his knees just yet, not when he’s still enraptured within a whole whorl of confusion and misinterpretation of his energy. That would take even more aggravating assault and even then, he’d rather fucking die on his feet trying than collapsing in a limping heap, then to hear the kneecap make a humiliating thump.

All while fighting the incomparable affliction he hadn’t ever dared to face, the jagged tendrils latch onto his bones like constricting thorns and he bites back silent cacophonous screams threatening to push through the ceiling of his throat, as if the mighty pummel from such flagellating whip of energy would have served as a serrated edge of the blade, as it mercilessly tore through his insides like hot knife through the butter. His own muscles defy his obedience as it breaths heavily as if it had its own life. An acute spike spawns upon where initial thrust had lunged against the underside of his ribcage, all through his upper limbs. Slow dribble permeates through charcoal fabric, the opalescence of the life fluidity plays a covert layer upon his deception.

His cruel tongue is busy citing the spells as cords around the neck threatens to pop open, and spill more envisioned charge of energy through the slatted shutters of his ribcage. “I’m not just a speck of dust that would be suppressed. I’m the  _ flame _ , swelling and expanding the whole room and eventually you’ll burst with it.” Words fed his own wicked soul and her rough treatment concentrates his lost heart as shuddering strands of muscles work their magic. He could feel his own insides rumble with accumulated energy and a familiar honeycomb surrounds him in a sphere, garnering electric sparks and gradually negating the oppressive tendrils of leash. 

But his spherical form had been tipping, sinking, plummeting deep, embedding into the earth with slanting heap of limbs as her light overwhelms his darkness. Caved eyes close taut. The master had said, _ time would heal _ , he’d learn to stand above whatever demons he’s fighting, yet  _ he knows time is relative. His healing time feels like a fucking eternity.  _

And his heart thumps, and valiantly splits through the cavity of his physicality and he burns crimson. Energy like luminous fireflies summon as trailing blaze slices the very atmosphere as his robes rip, becomes detonating explosions upon the whole dimmed conclave. Still held captive to his own virulence, yet he’s free from the shackles as he plucks himself off the ground as emblazoned latticework still aglows within his stretched arms. 

___

With a quiet release of breath, Wanda is unable to maintain him. When he stands, she releases her hold and stumbled back, gasping for breath from exertion of her mental and physical energy. Her head aching, she watches him very carefully, searching for a sign of weakness. His physical prowess both astonished and frightened her, and for several long moments, she found herself staring at his form, spacing out from the world around them as she looked to understand what exactly stood in front of her. Now that her anger had cooled, she felt even wearier than before with the intense release of emotion and magic.

“I feel there may be very little for me to teach. It is clear you will need a different teacher than I. I am unfamiliar with beings such as yourself. You are strong and undisciplined. But that is your advantage.”

_ What are you? _ Wanda had endless questions that she didn’t know if having the answers would satisfy her curiosity or perhaps terrify her further. She could see every moment of rage, fear, and sadness behind his motions. When his wife and child died, he had truly lost everything he had ever loved. Desperation had made him…what ever  _ he _ was. Trying to read the vast map that made up the network of his mind was like trying to navigate in thick, heavy fog. He was entirely a mystery.

Just as she had when Pietro passed into a world she would never be able to enter. That she not ever dare attempt to tap into, less she become the very thing she had been raised to fear. Uncontrollable. Terrifying. Unstoppable. A  _ weapon _ . It was best to put it out of her mind and convince herself that she would never be capable of such a feat even if she wanted to.

“I wish I knew what you were.” She shook her head in wonder. Magical beings were such curious creatures. She hadn’t met any outside of her father in many, many years. People,  _ mutants _ like herself always had a story to tell. 


	10. Chapter 10

His mind is an embodiment of a palpitating rhythm, as he imprints his untapped energy, which would surely and potentially increase in multitudes. The white-hot fury feasts upon his soul and the aura of his persona;  _ demanding, majestic _ , if he was a lampshade light shimmering aglow before, now he felt like a rolling thunder penetrating through the towering wall of icy terrain blocking his way, which had already crumbled upon his feet. He would’ve well begun his lone excruciating journey full of iron and stardust without her reining whiplash of tendrils, yet there’s a gratitude etched upon his  _ unfathomable _ well of hazel, growing crystal clear upon the whirling dust. 

A paradoxical sensation sweeps through his body - as he swims through the chaos as he tries his absolute best to calm his own storm. Distressed muscles scalding with hotness, transfigured and quite beautiful in his dazed blaze of silence. Threaded pain continuing to clench and whip around his staggering form with its tenacious grip, yet he prevails. Just like when the world seemed to tip over and flip him upside down to stab him on the back, he had refused to be toppled over. Even when reality crashed upon his immaculate family of three, he kept knocking and budging, though hitting the nadir as more spectacle of raised scabs and healed scars littered his hardened body. The mist seem to swirl thicker and thicker as glazed eyes stare straight ahead, fixated onto her with consuming intensity. Still well aware of the aggressors present within himself as he accepts his own bout of awakening, the conclave had stumbled and fallen down, such vehemence reduced into a heap of rubble. 

Just like how he had let sadness and depression consume his entire being after he had lost Adria and his unborn son. Futilely trying to pick up his broken remnants of his obstinate past, not so different from now. Funny how he always manages to pick himself up and mend the broken pieces, let them scatter yet again, too quick to fail himself as he let his single profound weakness devour him whole. His fortress heart still exhaling dreams into now-motionless night air as light faded away and he stumbled into the darkness. 

“Why do you think I abandoned my own hypocritic master to seek the streak of light through it all? Darkness is  _ oppressive _ and I’m suffering. I don’t think I’ve crossed over the moral turpitude just yet,”  _ but I’m close, threateningly close and I can see its raised talons right before my eyes.  _ “The merciless bout of the mother earth deserves utter destruction and disintegration,” lips slowly tear, as words rise in him with such booming potency. “I seek to be indestructible, powerful and to round this obstruction, of this grief and miserably wretched squeeze upon my heart.” Darkness isn’t his essentiality and a shackle upon his psyche he would forever hold onto like the pulverized evidence of his past life.  

What was he? A survivalist. Nothing more and nothing less. He breathed insatiable viciousness and inextinguishable fire upon the fingertips. Fighting through the sempiternal wall full of wicked souls and demons of his mind. His physicality excelled, yet his vast psyche stirred into a haphazard pastiche of the past and the unforeseeable future. Even when he would be reduced to scattered ash as he dances upon the whirling incinerating fire, if that’s what it takes, but he still had so much to grasp and learn. “You already saw to that, Wanda Maximoff, for that, I command you my absolute respect.” 

___

“You talk as if I’ve devoted my life to teaching you.” Her mouth twisted into an amused smile. What a curious creature, she thought as she gazed into the center of his mind, seeking a better understanding of what he was feeling. He was ready, she thought. He had so much more to learn, but his desire would motivate him for years to come…if he wasn’t consumed by his own darkness first. She may have been powerful, but she was not all-knowing nor able to gaze into the iris of what the future held.

“Your gratitude is humbling, Kaecilius,” she said. “And your potential is vast. I was wrong in that emotion can be a hindrance…truly, I have not seen somebody operate the inner workings of their magic with such an explosive force. I only worry that you will be consumed by it in time. Finding peace will be essential in your journey. Knowing when to remain calm and when to utilize the sorrow wrought upon you will be the key to mastering the art of magic.”

Gazing down at her hand, she twirled her index finger around in a small circle, sending a tendril of red magic curling around her finger. It felt warm, but not unpleasantly so. She thought about her own powers, the own extent to which she knew she could yield such power beyond the grasp of her control…she wondered if this was how Kaecilius felt. Except that he  _ wanted  _ to see what he was capable of. Wanda had to fight to keep her own powers at bay lest she lose herself and everything else she still held dear.

“Learn to breathe. I feel the world could benefit from your influence. As long as you walk towards a path of light, you will have nothing to fear.” Moving her fingers into a clawed position, the magic balled into a small, red haze in her palm. Flattening her hand, the magic spread and evaporated in a matter of seconds.

“Even I do not know exactly what my magic is or what it would take to yield ultimate control over the abilities I know I have, but do not dare tap into. I am a weapon, and you are too. You must realize this, always. People want weapons so that they may use them for their own twisted reasons…we are not people to be used. Never forget that, even if he who wished to work alongside you and use your powers seems as if they share your world views.”

She laughed a little, despite their strange situation. “But we talk as if this is goodbye. I hope you are not offended I may have come to kill you and used your wife’s name in vain.” She was partially teasing, but realizing her previous actions could have very well upset him.


	11. Chapter 11

Life is such a fickle thing; a consistent uphill battle and he had been refusing for it to break him. _Didn’t he witness the glittering breathing of the mirror dimension turn icy prickles as scorching and stuffy air suppressed his own voice to be ejected?_ Over and over, until his utmost and raw allegiance to Adria and the concept of his beatific family would turn inward to shatter him in pieces, to the state beyond no amount of adhesive could mend him whole. To let him falter in frailty, and slip away to the nether realm and never hear the voice of the one who both drained and overflowed him whole. “If you weren’t so _irredeemably_ respectable, I would have never set my foot into this conclave.” His vacuous stare is laced with a hint of ponderance, yet his usual asperity of his guttural voice mellows a degree down. 

“ How could I ever be liberated with brutal and noisy concoction, it’s my inclination. Each step, movement and gesture, each circuitous thought and words become a crushing weight?” Such hindered energy, bottled within the chambers of his heart, the way had been finally severed and now had been remotely connected with threading, suppressed nerve endings, and unspoken words ricocheted within his mind had brought upon such indispensable carnage, of his reckoning. 

Wanda’s answer,  _ to breath _ , gives this training a significant purpose. Never had he been pushed further, not even by the Ancient One or any of the Masters whose skills had he surpassed by  _ miles _ . The drive behind his burning hazel glow had been the reeling recollection of his past, more often accompanied with the laughter, delectable phantasm of shared kisses as he let those become the rejuvenating salve upon his battle-tested planes of his muscles. 

No one would ever dare to shove him in a predicament and watch him scuttle in his own mess as he recovered from the permanent seals, fueled insuperable by the projectile of his vigor, drawn from his  _ raw _ and naked love. That alone was enough to drive some of the darkness away, thus, retain a sliver of humanity within obscurity. Then, perhaps his smoke breath would transpire to become more crystallized and clear. And his weary chest wouldn’t be simply an empty vessel with a void but dessicated limbs and skeletons. 

The status or title between them didn’t concern him; he very much knew that once his locked potential expands along with such streams of celebratory explosions and lunged dashes, he would be  _ unstoppable _ . The energy itself didn’t frighten nor made him weary as his breathing slowly settles. A man of his caliber wouldn’t reduce to be an expandable in unending war, where death and immortality coalesce and become one. He still yearned to grasp a touch of reality. “I never have considered myself to be used. I refuse to be reduced to being the pawns of the greater paradigm.”  _ Such as death and time.  _

Joining his hands flat together, he’s finally able to crack a hint of smile. Had he ever let his emotions show through his impassive features. “Kill or be killed, it’s all relative, but now I consider this to be a genuine truce. Now, where is your sanctum located? I would like to relieve what I have gone through and meditate properly.” 

___

Pleased, Wanda nods solemnly, continuing to peer at him curiously as she withdrew from the wild storm of thoughts in his head. She didn’t like prying into people’s thoughts as a general rule; men and women were entitled to their privacy. But if there was one particular  _ vice _ that often caught the best of her reason, it was her endless curiosity of human nature. She had admittedly fallen in love too many times out of sheer fascination with the workings of another’s mind. The subject of her tenderness went unrequited, more often than not, which Wanda had grown to accept as a general rule. She knew that anything beyond the boundary of companionship was something she had to tread carefully around, less she make the mistake of revealing what she was truly capable of.

“It is something most do not often consider,” she said. “It is not always your own demons a magic user must fear. There are countless others that seek to use us for their own devices. Be careful who you grow close to in your search for power, and be careful of others who may wish to manipulate you under the guise of offering their wisdom.Take it from somebody who has experienced this herself.”

She did not disclose that she spoke of her father, Magneto. That would be a story for another time. The story of  _ her family  _ and it’s many complications. If at all possible, Wanda avoided the topic like the plague, as it only resurfaced ugly emotions that made her feel on-edge and unstable.

“Well…that would probably be the Avengers’ headquarters. They would not be happy to see you there, but for the time being, it is empty and serves as a very quiet place to sit and think when you are not being interrupted by Tony Stark trying to make jokes that he thinks are hilarious.” She scoffed before continuing.

“Walk with me. We will arrive shortly. But do tell, when did you lose your wife and child? Clearly, the grief still haunts you.”


	12. Chapter 12

Through the heap of crumbled architecture and a steady glow of orange where the horizon illuminates with such swaying breeze along with a spillage of vivid hues of oranges and reds, he watches the last serrated trail of orange dissipate from his fingertips like a lingering electric shock. Evidently, his silent dance upon the ground in a blaze of white and obsidian trails had been all too painfully reminiscent of his former life. His own form still scrambling to find the unresolved answer he sought that Wanda concluded as ‘ _ fate _ .’ Already fueled by bleeding anger, though his pathetic attempt to gradually wane and fade away as he drowned in former glories as he let the diminutive damages escalate. 

_ How many times did he think of her arms, a clutch and an anchor that would always ground him whole?  _ Even when percussions ringing off his cranium would become an angry music blaring loud in his ears in such cacophonous chaos, as long as his head was upon her lap as her fingers laced through the long locks beneath the back of his neck, where all the tenseness accumulated beneath the defined muscles, everything would magically dissipate and disappear as if nothing had happened. Wasn’t that the reason for his existence, amidst all the glory and triumph, he sought love and his heart had found home. With their intertwined fingers, he would feel invincible than ever; there would be nothing he couldn’t conquer and achieve with fueled love and assuring lips of hers on his. 

Everything made sense then, through all the months of going out before getting married after two years of being together. Along with the struck tragedy, everything took an unexpected detour; endless sleepless nights, crying in unleashed wrath and sorrow, the jealousy he felt upon the other couples who had laced their hands together and finding they had been pregnant, making plans in their most blissful moments, of welcoming another precious life into their lives. Surging hope crumbled beneath his feet and how the beauty inducing quotidien endeavors would scathe him with infected wounds and fester along, for him to succumb and suffocate. 

“I already feel used, instead of crushing down the demons in my mind, I let it take over with such undying  _ persistence _ . The recollections itself became tarnished in its retching fluids and putrescence. So paradoxical to the answers I sought before when I stepped at the door to Kamar-Taj as a desperate man.” He felt  _ cheated _ , as he desperately sought answers and so far, his deep hostility for humanity itself had grown into an epic proportions. Only the blood pulsating in his ears became prominent with such bracing clarity. And his own former-master had been a hypocrite. The world of deep possibility in her had vanished and he couldn’t learn much from her to abate his need for his agony to be validated in massacre.  

“I… lost them ten years ago, due to brain aneurysm. She was four months pregnant with our unborn son.” Such memories of being drenched in blood-saturated ashen locks and desiccated bones and abysmal gazes of their pleading salvation from their unexpected death still marred his caved hazel, even with the test of time. Lingering like sempiternal phantasms of his rueful past as they seeped into his soul and weeped tears. “I don’t wish to know who this Tony Stark is, but when he jeopardizes my training, I will kill him without hesitance.” 

___

“I’m sorry,” she said. She stared straight ahead as they walked out of the empty cavern and down the road that would take them to the outskirts of the city where the headquarters was located. The air felt cool against the warm sunshine on Wanda’s skin, choosing only to wear a pair of black jeans and a dark-red fitted top, suitable for combat. Boots crunching against the broken glass and crumbling asphalt, the wonders of the natural world seemed to pop out at her as she faced the sunshine with the strange man by her side. “It is a great loss to lose someone so dear to you. I wish you peace in your travels, Kaecilius.”

“It such fate for men and women like us. We must always be wary of people looking to strip our identities. Especially because, more often than not, who we are is often all we have left. I realized this when I lost Pietro, and through that, recognizing my father for who he truly was: a tyrant. I could never return home even if I wanted to.”

Wanda sighed, her face void of any recognizable emotion. She knew that if any of the Avengers found out about her new “friend”, they’d have him under surveillance or, at best, forcibly remove him from the facility. If she were to be honest, she didn’t trust Kaecilius to have a civil response to such an action. His features suggested he wasn’t entirely human; she hadn’t bothered to ask what happened to his eyes, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. If there was one aspect where she was limited in her abilities, it was healing. Wanda had never learned how, nor suspected she had such abilities in the first place.

Upon his comment on Tony Stark, Wanda shot him a look.

“Please  _ do not _ kill any of the Avengers, should you come across them. Tony Stark is…” Harmless? Wanda could hardly say that. He had made grave mistakes in his life, grave enough that Wanda would most certainly label him as a threat to any outsider. But she wasn’t about to tell Kaecilius that.

“…a friend,” she said after a moment.  “Despite his many issues, he is someone whom the world would be better off with him in it.” Wanda laughed. It all seemed so ridiculous.

“But nevertheless, I promise we will heed no interruptions. They…aren’t expecting me, anyway. I have been away from the facility for quite some time.”


	13. Chapter 13

The images crawl all over his skin, such discrepancies between what used to be such exquisite blissful recollections and now they become inescapable shackles he merely draws his latent anger and fury from. Yet, he couldn’t be left without them, then his existence, the reason for his pursuit towards the absolute truth and immeasurable power and knowledge would simply halt. Such whirlpool of his obsidian water, his aura that seem to ripple and crack across the expanse of the surface. And they turn lusciously silky one time and coarse and gritty the other, and he’s hurtling within it. He still hadn’t fully grasped them to unleash at his will, though he trained like a tunnel-visioned stallion who found tranquility in the aching strands of muscles and exertion. His runner’s high upon the mediocrity of life. 

He still couldn’t accept the fact that what tragedy it struck had to be his predestined fate and others faced different degrees of afflictions and had prevailed to become diamond amidst crude lumps of coal. But perceiving and accepting were two distinctively different things and he just couldn’t summon enough courage - for the lack of the better words to admit this spellbound desirous lief from tormenting him further. “I’m sorry she had to be plucked out of my grasp so soon and immaturely. It hadn’t even been our first anniversary,” he hadn’t been even relished himself to give empty words of affection and kisses, sought amicable company nor even giving out cold hugs to his disciples and so-called pupils who most often wouldn’t ever see after weeks, better, days after the grueling training full of spillage of crimson and hard-earned contusions and livid bruises. 

The tail of his yellow ocher robe brushes intermittently against his strong legs and he’s carrying his usual composed posture, full of self-assurance and confidence. “I seek to not only find the peace within myself so I could control the rudimental energy coursing through me with utmost control, but I do seek and yearn for someone that could accept me for who I am, even in silence and breaths.” Nothing fake, or effortless, or forced. The cracks around his almond aubergine crater widens and takes a descend as silvery lines contour over his defined cheekbones. Fully captivating and frightening at the same time, those eyes spoke of his soul, serving as lips that lure the others in. 

Is that what had happened? His innate soul having been stripped as this unforeseen force takes over his body? The powerful, forbidden practice had etched several of his zealots, giving him the distinctive mark upon his forehead. And now the most intricate problem solving had became more simplistic, but  _ the means of reverting himself back to normal, would that be ever possible? _ To let himself immerse in the humanity and its goodness once again as he feels a genuine chill, warmth, sparks…  _ Allowing him to put his guards down and welcome them with his open arms?  _

He could detect a hint of hesitance or drawing back of her genuine emotions when it came to a man named Tony Stark, but he doesn’t prod further. “A friend,” his removed grimness sets forth in his slight haggard state. All he could register from Wanda’s remark being, as most men and women with incorrigible power, accompanied with distinctive strengths that would negate the most abominable flaws one could possibly have. “I don’t think I have enough fight left in my for the time being, so I would rather not cross paths with any one of them, not only this Tony Stark, so enlighten me more about this Avengers headquarter. Does it have training grounds and libraries like Kamar-Taj and who is the Sorcerer Supreme?” 

___

Wanda eyed him warily as they walked. His way of thinking was curiously child-like, yet wise in that she could feel the roots of his sorrow in everything he said. Wanda wasn’t entirely sure if he was serious in his threat to kill Tony Start, and yet she found humor in the statement that he felt the need to challenge somebody who would, at best, simply be a nuisance to their presence less Stark grow suspicious of his intentions as Wanda had upon their first meeting. Nevertheless, Wanda agreed that she would rather  _ not _ have him cross paths with another Avenger if she could help it.

“I am sorry that happened to you,” she said quietly. “Your desires to seek acceptance are certainly within the normal realms of man. I fear that my coping mechanisms of dealing with my own brother’s death haven’t been quite as healthy for myself.” She took a deep breath, staring straight ahead as they walked before continuing. “I left the Avenger’s when Pietro died to pursue my own work. I mentored other young mutants, but I wanted nothing to do with Stark or Rogers or any of the rest of them. The only reason I’m returning with you now is under the certain notion that they will not be back for at least another week. Perhaps it will be good for me too.”

Wanda did laugh upon the mention of a “Sorcerer Supreme”. He certainly had much to learn.

“Erm…I am not sure what that is, but I can assure you we do not have one. Our… _ their _ organization is a bit different than what you may be used to. The Avenger’s Initiative is primarily lead by Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. They are not bad men, but they are men nonetheless.” Wanda scoffed at the thought.

“The headquarters does have an arena, however. And a library on the bottom floor. I wish I could say it was used more, but admittedly it is one of the more untouched rooms of the building. Still, it may be different from what you’ve grown accustomed to.” The memories didn’t entirely stir any significant emotions within her; the only one she had been close to was Clint. Steve had treated her kindly, but otherwise she felt her allegiance had never fully lied with them even though she had supported and fought for their cause. She had wanted to fight for her and her brother’s safety, and she had failed. 

Pietro had always hated reading, hadn’t he? It was just another slow, meaningless task in a world that moved far too slow for his taste.  _ Like constantly waiting in line at the ATM, _ he had said. She had always wished she could understand. 

“I think you will like it.”


	14. Chapter 14

Even when he had been graced with unperturbed boil of energy egging beneath his hardened skin as he briskly strides with his utmost confidence, he wasn’t entirely free of watching umber shadows dance in bitterness and ruefulness as so many times his wife and son had slowly spiralled out from indistinguishable clump of vast nothingness along with helpless gaze, porous bones crumbling down in pieces. For they appeared too emaciated and ghastly for him to embrace them in hugs.  _ Paradoxically _ , his head had been too wrapped around that vividity and he’s hacking and tossing and turning in his own head even when he stubbornly believes his mind and lungs are clear of them. 

Most people would’ve grown over the hollowed minds and scream all the desperation away and carry on. Perhaps all he needed was the sweet scent of ocean breeze he had scented at the pier, as open body of waters immediately murky and desolate with the struck tragedy.  _ How many times had he looked over his rippling reflection and thought he would simply succumb and do the gravity do the magnetic work? _ Forget the morals he once lived by and he had questioned his worth and persistence of reason to live, as if he had to learn how to breath again. 

Putting on a sempiternal filter upon his point of view as pain had clouded his eyes, he became an embodiment of a throaty rumble of the thunder, roaring so loud in his silent cacophony that everything trembles. Fingers curl as knuckles whiten, etching crescents deep into the hardened palm of his hand as a pang of saltiness rises around the corner of his eyes. “Don’t we all, some more mortal and capable of reducing one to feel utterly  _ weak _ , your conceptualization of the self severs and we are slaves to it, despite all the stubborn resistance to deny, it freezes you to the bone as your entire world buries deep beneath such trenchant snowdrift.” 

Registering Wanda through his peripheral and catching glimpses of her as robes rustle, he could still feel the charring serrated edges from their training emit the scent of very breeze he had been accompanied with like a knot in his reality. Perhaps he needed this exercise to wipe himself clean and start anew before his insides burn out bright. “Rogers? Is this Rogers individual a soldier? I would love to dent a crack in his frame and lock him in the mirror dimension,” his etched brow tightens into a straightened line, as he could still feel the molten lava run through his veins; akin to the heat of the rapid warming summer day, it starts from his very core and overwhelms his chilled heart and eyes. “And do both masters get along well? I don’t lead a lifestyle fixated on set routines, I wouldn’t want to perturb anyone’s privacy, as I prefer my own solitude.” It’s pivotal that he deals with such heartbreak that had been as intense as it had happened a day before and he would hate for anyone to come to face with his  _ vulnerability _ , where his own shadows would shriek in mordant agony.

With such evidence of her contained power, his caved eyes pivot, at the mention of two ‘leaders.’ “Do you wish to  _ cause _ them harm? You are not to be underestimated, yet I sense a certain looming tension between Master Stark and Rogers,” maybe it was a subtle drop of her tone that he sensed a clash of personality and masculine obstinacy. The subject of library being the most desolate and unused space within the headquarter makes the corner of his lips to hook in a sharp curve. He would spend himself in contemplation and look through some of the more pivotal collections he wasn’t familiar with back in Kamar-Taj. 

The looming headquarters is nothing he had imagined, as pillars replaced with dazzling steel structure, extending beyond the grounds like a vast stretch of ocean and none of the terra-cotta earth permeated with his salty tears, sweat and blood. “This is completely beyond me as I haven’t expected such grandiosity,” baffled as he looks at such vehement fortress, he’s thunderous feet nimbly moves to dash forward into the entrance. 

___

Wanda had to purse her lips to keep from laughing. Admittedly, she realized he did have the capabilities to turn Stark and Rogers to dust should he gain the right opportunity, but the way in which he spoke made it difficult for her to take him seriously. Raising an eyebrow, Wanda debated at further entertaining him a false fantasy that the three of them would engage in some great duel of wits and raw power, or remind him that she wasn’t going to ever let him be so much as  _ seen _ by the other Avengers. Shaking her head in amusement, Wanda’s eyes flicked upward as they approached the headquarters just at the outskirts of the city.

“You are not going to duel them, you insane  _ man…”  _ she laughed. “I told you, you won’t even be meeting them. It would not end well. And they are not the “masters”…just…the organizers, I guess. Rogers was a soldier during World War II, frozen in a block of ice until they resurfaced him four years ago. Tony Stark is a genius businessman with a knack for innovative invention. They are good men, but they act like children with their battles of leadership. I think Rogers has a better head on his shoulders, personally, but I am not one to talk as I have distanced myself from their ranks.” 

Wanda sighed. Truthfully, being here felt inherently wrong. She didn’t want to be here, but seeing the place entirely empty was more comforting. With a mild twinge of guilt, Wanda quickly disabled JARVIS with a twirl of her finger, not really wanting his input on their activities, nor did she want Stark finding out Wanda was bringing a stranger into their haven while the rest of the Avengers were away. She didn’t trust Stark’s judgement anymore than she trusted a stranger’s.

“Wait,  _ Kaecilius – “ _ Wanda had to run to keep up, bursting through the doors of the strange place she once called home. “Down the stairs, to the left – that is the library. It is very beautiful, as you will see.”

Surely enough, the vast expanse of books greeted her like an old friend once she entered the room, close behind Kaecilius who had reached it first. Shelves upon shelves of materials, on everything from mutant history to essays on superheros across the world lined the shelves, complete with several dusty tables that had laid unused for quite some time. She has a memory of Peitro zipping between the shelves when they had retreated here for some alone time, gathering every book he could find on meditation and Romani heritage that he could find. He read none of them, of course, but Wanda had taken great interest.

“There is one book I love. It is a history of the Roma people that Pietro and I were once apart of. It is very personal to who we are, our heritage, our often-forgotten culture…you will find much knowledge at your disposal here within these walls.”


	15. Chapter 15

So many questions arise within him, yet he could feel the thunderous streak still etching through him in rudimental energy, as if it would tear the sky apart. How he longed and voraciously desired in his disquieted aura, that someday, he would shift the tectonics and move objects at his will, lashing onto the ground and see the world collapse in heartbreak. Yet, for the exquisite time being, the sky remained to be in its clearest state, a lively blue as his agglomerated energy disperses within him with some clouds to act as a barrier upon the sun’s biting rays. “Deep inside, I’m quite craving the challenge those two would offer.” He’s still concocting the images of them based on Wanda’s summarized description; Rogers, in all of his mercenery charm and commanding presence would make a formidable adversary and Stark sounds more like the one he bullied when he had been attending university. 

“And he had been drawing powers from the frozen blocks of ice?” The mere thought of his former master, a quintessential embodiment of a hypocrite, dominates his mind and he could feel his chest tighten. Strong fingers curl with such exertion and they start to shake, while blood rushes through his veins, threatening to erupt. “Aren’t we all, regarding accumulation of knowledge and power? Such fickle and greedy thing, the humanity itself is. We’re the only race who kills our own species, in order to thrive and prosper and feel not even an ounce of remorse while doing so.” A defined curve that supports his impressive composure, like a confident professional model or a dancer who was capable of using his body in its entirety is still stricken with madness and maniacal desire to search for the truth until he himself cascade beneath the sleek warmth of his unending streak of serrated fire. 

To his displease, he still had been highly intuitive - not particularly  _ empathetic _ , yet highly aware of his surroundings and his mind processes. All thanks to so many years spent on perfecting his own brand of meditation, not the most tranquil method to calm his entangled labyrinth of knotted trails. Such fickle solace always came with too steep a price; as much as he gave much effort to deny him from being bruised both inside and outside, he had often been knocked off his feet in both surprise and confusion, as he either didn’t care a fiddlestick or trusted too much with his life on the line. Falling to pieces, albeit his conciliatory way to resolve the unending conflict between grief and persistence. How often he had felt the sandstrom blasting over his face, each grain corroding and chafing against his skin, leaving a series of permanent wound? Like a progressive concussion, it’s only thing that makes him to regret. His persistent trust having been ricocheted as they reach right into his soul and rip it out of him. 

The catastrophic recollections of him and them;  _ the story of his life _ . His residual chaos and violence could only burn through him for so long.

All the eccentricity and unfamiliar sight of titanium exoskeletons, twisted wires all exposed like gnarled branches and twigs, with components hanging off its malleable stainless steel plated infrastructure, resembling the human rib-cage as closest as it does aside, Kaecilius’ utmost attention lays in coming face-to-face with such vehement collection of knowledge in sorcery, as he had spent hours, delving into the concept of time, dimension, space and forbidden practices and spells. As the arachnid-like probes weave around the atmosphere with a faint blurring sounds as his blurring figure enters through the library with flying colors, the projected scanner takes over his view and he simply disables it with a silencing flick of a finger as intense orange spark channels from the tip of his fingers. 

To his utter disappointment, he doesn’t see all the gigantic tomes chained around, suspended in a row of shelves he was so accustomed to; instead, they look so modernized to his distaste. His impeccably straight posture droops a bit in disappointment and displease. What felt like an eternity of eminence of the formidable architecture reduces into a revilement within his heart. “Where are all the books on mysticism and unsanctioned practice of tabooed spells and relics?” 

___

“I will be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever fully come to understand how Rogers got his powers. But it’s in the Historic Museum downtown…he has his own exhibit. That is another center for those seeking knowledge. You might like it, if you are willing to pay for the ticket price.” She smiled, sitting down with her book as she flipped it open to the first page, examining the text carefully for a moment. How long had it been since she had actually read a book?  _ Too long, _ was the answer. She didn’t have the excuse of not having time anymore.

“Tony Stark has a very brash, bold personality that often seizes the best of his intentions. I do not consider him an evil man, but he is dangerous nonetheless. And rich. Any man with that amount of wealth and power is never to be trusted, and I entirely mean it. That being said, he created all his own wealth. He had to work for everything he has. I admire that about him.” Wanda had long forgiven Stark for the cruelties he had dealt upon she and her brother, seeing as it was truly the result of a mistake on his behalf. Still, the way he seemed to view her as more of a weapon rather than a woman with her own thoughts and actions made her uneasy.

Peering curiously at Kaecilius, she began to realize that the innocence he displayed was entirely genuine. He really knew so little of the mutant and super-powered world, for being one of natural magic ability. His knowledge of the human world seemed even more limited. It took all her self-control not to laugh at his obliviousness. He reminded her terribly of Vision, whom she had broken his heart upon leaving the Avenger’s not so long ago. With a pang of guilt, she recalled the sadness in the android’s eyes that had been more human than anything she had ever witnessed…before meeting this strange sorcerer with the confusion and curiosity of a child.

“I am sure that this place isn’t entirely what you are accustomed to, but there are others around the city you may take more to your liking. As for the books you seek…hm…” Wanda stood and made her way to the back of the room, gesturing for him to follow as her eyes flickered between the shelves. Extending her arm, she curled her fingers, summoning a large book from the top shelf. As it lowered itself into her hands, she handed it to Kaecilius; it was large, black, and very, very dusty from lack of use, but in wonderful condition save for the yellowed pages.

“I don’t know if this is what you seek, but you are more than welcome to look through it. I doubt they would miss it if you wish to keep it. It hasn’t been opened in many years. I don’t know of anything else aside from this, but you can look around.”

Wanda sensed his displeasure, which amused her. She had an idea of the type of library he was likely accustomed to, and couldn’t imagine it being anything like what they had here. Nobody had time to read anyway, or at least, so she understood. She was glad this was here though, even if it was no longer “rightfully” hers. 

“I am sure you are accustomed to much grander places than this. But I’d encourage you to seek beauty in what is simple. It isn’t so hard. There is a vast wealth of knowledge in this room, and knowledge alone brings one great power.” Wanda turned her head as she summoned a book,  _ Ancient Witches of the Past, _ from a higher shelf.

“You of all men would know that, right?”


	16. Chapter 16

Still hiding his intensity beneath the bed of coal, embracing pain and agony, eager to be stirred and ignited as it resurgences to permeate through the frigid atmosphere.  _ Did he really walk out of the road, towards less exhaustion, conflictions and sadness to encounter this? _ “I speculate that ticket price couldn’t be bought with money,” his presence, entirely donned in a vague agglomeration of ancient orientalism and combination of robes and sash favored by him alone becomes a stark contrast to such encasement of metal and silver, gleaming surfaces that seem to reflect and hold his soul like the mirror dimension does. 

And such recycled thought of him overpowering each and one of them still enthralls him, giving him the reason, what it feels like to live. As best memories of his became his worst nightmares. His congruent thoughts, maybe foolish, for him to believe his vessel for happiness drained to fill with the sadness where all the images stings like brandings against his skin. He had bore enough scars for them and perhaps that will seize his cosmic brood.

Of course, like most people, there was a niche hidden deep within the labyrinthine mind of his, carefully locked away where no one can reach. Like the most ubiquitous mnemonic system of the expansive minds, he had his own alcove where he retreated, where it was as bizarre and quite vast as this room, without his own heavy heart beating in rhythm. It came with that pale gleam with exposed bones and his own body’s shrieking cry of witnessing the broken cadence. No more whimpering and desperate pleas as he had been clouded by urge to retaliate; which in return, fueled his fundamental need to kill. 

“Being a worldly affluent individual aside, perhaps it is pain and suffering that brought him to reach his greatness. Perhaps he does have a deep heart and vast intelligence that could’ve used otherwise.” It might have been emptiness, abandonment, that neverending longing and regrets. Something like a vile strand of disease, he wasn’t free of that vileness from triggering his own little associations. It could be just a snippet of memory or a certain texture or scent he remembers. Then his day fills with incessant sighs and long stares that reach nowhere. 

He briefly looks back over his shoulder before letting a lopsided curl etch through the corner of his lips. Slipping both sleeves as a lick of sweat curves around his thick, encased neck, he could literally feel his orbs acuminate with more precision. Briefly letting his gaze linger on the time-tested spine of the book Wanda had mentioned and trailing down the length of it, he pivots away to follow her in long strides, the phantom kisses of the room becoming a ghost of a lick over his spine. Deep fissures around his eyes turn a lively ocean soul as he encompasses the simple, yet elaborate cover. Perhaps as dense and dark as his evergreen soul. Wiping the cover off with the surface of his outer garb, he blows the dust off and gazes into the faded painting of  _ Circe _ . 

“Just like the big cats, I don’t savagely kill nor partake in pleasure in killing other than what is necessary. Problem solving is hunting and this is an image I could relate with absolute clarity, however…” A _ half-truth _ , for he didn’t feel a single ounce nor remorse when he bent and broke with coming forth such a beauty, a beauty of witnessing one to face the dissolved  _ mortality _ , or  _ oblivion _ , or a sound  _ eternal _ sleep, whatever deemed to be at the end, begins to seek more closure within the recess of his mind. If he could ever create a whirlwind of lines and let those extend from his fingertips as a primal sensation to brand and etch the vastness of the world. Piercing the air like a  _ celestial spear _ … He had never met a practice that would cause so much conflict within the walls of his mind and boggle him beyond having himself to burst. “I’m looking for something far greater, where reality could dissipate as easily as it had been existing.” 

“How could I not?” If he had fought that bittersweet dance of acid blood coursing through him, instead of letting such divineness of incitement of the night come alive as he had delved into such task of accumulating knowledge, expanding into the vastness of the undertaking as he battled demons within him. “I will keep this in my possession, for none of those whom you have mentioned would fathom this.”

___

“Well, I wish you luck on whatever  _ metaphysical _ quest you seek. I would be more than happy than to assist you in the discovery of your magical discovery, but I think I’ll keep myself on this relative plane.” She was being marginally sarcastic; Wanda didn’t quite understand exactly what it was that he sought beyond mastery of his own abilities. She had taken a very curious interest in this man. Like her, he was a magic-user that had undergone great loss, and sought self-discovery and mastery of one’s own capabilities. He was a formidable opponent, despite his shortcomings, and Wanda wondered what he was capable of learning from her guidance alone.

“Actually, ticket prices aren’t too terrible, and yes, they can and must be bought with normal currency. I think you’d like museums. They just aren’t for touching, and you can’t talk too loudly.” She clicked her tongue at the last bit, giving him a playful eye as she scanned over the book in her hands. There was no point in trying to explain Rogers and Stark to him any further, let alone delve into the intricate personalities of her other former teammates. 

“Well, I hope you will find it to your liking. I would encourage you to read other books to expand your horizons. Even works of fiction are very nourishing to the mind…my brother never liked reading, you know.” She laughed weakly, shaking her head. “It was too slow of an activity for him. He never, ever knew how to slow down. Guess it all came with the abilities themselves, but…” Wanda twirled a finger through her hair, absently flipping the page of the book in her hands. Why did speaking of Pietro still stir a darkness within her that threatened to boil over? Why did she always feel like she was standing in quicksand, that at any moment, she could drop to her knees and  _ scream _ any time he remained in her thoughts for too long?

The energy Kaecilius seemed to emit helped Wanda better focus her mind away from the intrusive, violent fears. Fear of a world without Pietro. Fear of the deep, black expanse of power that she knew laid dormant in her core that she dare not touch. Fear that she would one day become the woman she vowed she’d never become. 

“There is also the arena just across the hall,” she said, changing the subject quickly. “You might like that. It has a full gym and a very high ceiling, perfect for flying and practicing magic. There are targets, obstacle courses in the next room, weapons practice…” Wanda’s voice seemed to trail off as she stared at the wall opposite her. “It’s good for stress release as well.”


	17. Chapter 17

Truly, pain itself didn’t diverge too greatly from words and the serrated edges of his trailing mysticism. The ability to  _ transcribe _ , be written, sung, exchanged and formed with letters and syllables,  _ twinged _ with unspoken, condensed emotions he was so painfully familiar with. Not only the cracked fissure reminiscing all the broken pieces of him and often scuttled along his virulent fingertips, as such concept and accumulated feelings conveyed how he feels for people. They used to be so dulcet and sweet, turning them into his inspirations and beatific enigma.  _ What had he really been seeking? _ Was it even possible to penetrate deeper into this labyrinthine,  _ knotted _ mind of his, even  _ unbeknownst _ to him as he plunged through the chambers of his heart like nothing could? 

Magic spells were the source of his  _ stability _ , though sometimes it ricocheted back to cause him  _ calamity _ . They’re potent, because his eyes leak torment and self-deprecating burden of being a lone survivor out of all this, outside from the contented life he led back in Copenhagen. Through the chill of rampaging rhythms as the world had reduced into an unending pandamonium; the world full of gray and multitude colors of love become as fragile and blackened as his heart. As unused, neglected and tattered like the tome he holds close to his chest. 

“Ah, of course, who am I to judge. That would be the moment where my absent distance from the reality finally unfurl and decodes in itself.” He reciprocates Wanda’s gaze with his own sliver of narrowed eyes before trying to penetrate through a dense Sanskrit. What struggles he have had, as he had paid his dues and so did the  _ humanity _ . Should he spit fire at those who had been negligent, had made him to boil stew inside his head as he welled up in his own grievance and harsh reality of the world? Nothing is set in stone, but the thought becomes a grave recurrence of thoughts at the end of the day.  

Still, he was ready to face whatever that process would hurl at him; it could hurt, break, sever, cause carnage and even more wreckage. For him, there would be nothing quite like the words of a serenade through him, a paradoxical duplicity of his broad-shouldered form that carried so much weight upon the grounds, yet so fragilely pieced together like the fraying expanse of his skin. 

“Then your brother’s restless spirits would’ve benefited so greatly from meditation.” His reasoning might be as clear as the uncharted coordinates of unfathomable universe, yet he couldn’t press matters further. For he had been wrapped around uncontrollable rage as it consumed him whole. He still bore the scars as the light of the world tained through his fuzzy hazel. 

He didn’t need to carry all of this garbage, so he puts them all behind the fabricated structure, crafted in his mind. He will wait and wait, until the clumped thoughts dissipate and blend into the warmth of his heat and his exhaustion. Such imbrogio disturbs his teetering depth of his mind and calmness refuses to come in his usual effortless sink. As he would never be liberated from the scalding tears streaking down in his sleep. “Such assumption is an understatement, of course, the exertion itself has to be properly mended with more raging exercises.” At least that it in itself occupied enough of his attention to divert himself away from such murky pool of soundless caws. Turning at his heels with the tome clutched ever close to his heart, he lifts his gaze, wanting her to join. “Thought twins were remarkably alike. Perhaps you share the same sentiment as he.” 

___

_ Restless. _ Yes, Pietro was, indeed, a restless person. As the fastest mutant in known existence, Pietro was powerful, awe-inspiring, and terribly kind. Endlessly loyal and protective, impossibly quick to think and act upon any decision at hand, Wanda had only felt emptiness when he died. And the feeling had never faded nor eased the troubling in her heart, even though significant time had passed since the day he had slipped through her arms.

“Much like Siamese twins, Pietro and I were connected at birth…not physically, but  _ here,”  _ Wanda tapped her head with a single finger, almost absently as she paged through her book. “We were destined to be together, as we were only born twelve minutes apart, born to a mother who could not care for us, and to a father who only wanted to use us for the power we wielded. I loved him, Kaecilius. And I miss him every day. If for one day I could stop grieving, perhaps then I will know the peace I seek.” She still did not meet his eyes as she spoke.

“But to answer your inquiry, yes, he would have benefited from meditation indeed.” This was terribly amusing, as she found herself imagining having to chain her brother to the ground just so that she could force him to stretch. Something positive to associate him with, instead of the deep brown eyes, staring up at the sky without seeing the sun shining down on his blood-soaked skin. Wanda found herself smiling again.

“The rumor that twins are always alike is untrue. Pietro and I could not have been more different, but no matter where we went or what befell us, our allegiance laid with each other. You, at least, understand the weight of loss and how it weighs heavy upon us. I still see my days as uncertain without him.” Tears threatened to burn the corner of her eyes as she slammed the book shut in front of her, not wanting to read another word.

“Would you like to go in and practice more? It may be a good distraction. I am more than open to working on technique if that is what you’d like to focus on, as I do not foresee strength being an issue for you.”


	18. Chapter 18

He had been an only child from the birth and had been pretty much of an antisocial loner since his parents’ passing from his teenhood, yet he could relate the coalescing bodies and minds, that incomparable understanding of each other as the combined music tunes effortlessly blended into one coherent song. That’s what started with a  _ look _ , a fixated  _ gaze _ , that lingering moment of eye contact where he and Adria seemed to peer into each other’s souls since the beginning. He would’ve completely missed her if he had been a heartbeat late as she crashed into his life in a little quaint crowded cafe near Nyhavn canal. A few moments pass and they had been exchanging words of their surroundings and habits, not a diverted course from his usual ice-breaking. And just serendipitous their first encounter had been, such unexpected turn of fate along with a strange feeling, that this could be all weary and dream which about to shatter his reality. 

How long he had yearned for that light to shine through, the sun catching every miniscule hint of her presence in the air and every time he had raised his head to welcome another day without her pressed closed to him, it’d twirl around him and never leave him alone. His hands still lingered in her dark cascading waterfall and he’d felt freshly kissed, as his eyes began to sting with gathering tears. 

“My heart always used to ache and it still does every now and then, as I wrap myself in the present. Hoping, somehow that memories of her would be preserved through the ghosts of touches left behind,” his receding hazel lingers upon the yellowed, thick creases of the fore edge of the book as he holds the tome close to his heart. Then, a decisive blink, as if he had been wishing the world away in that moment of a heartbeat. So desiring to sink back into the lulling daydream, as sleeping could get addictive when it’d been his only key to happiness which had been buried inside him for so long. Yet, contentment had been a long shot as he had been like a drowning man, desperate for anything to grasp hold onto and taking in heap of inhale only to be assaulted with more stinging deluge of saltwater and sun-ray, turning into blinding, unforgiving shards. While he let his avaricious thirst turn into thundercloud, bonding as the last bit of light beneath the rim of the sky completely disappear behind the inky denseness of blackish-blue night.

He’s able to crack a smile, yet it doesn’t reach beyond the darkness beneath his eyelids. Trying to imagine the such bittersweet days of him riddled in acid blood and salty sweat, such exhilarating divineness and enlivening incitement quickly vanishes behind those abysmal depth of his hazel as the overwhelming scent of bodement and harbinger of death and consumption replaces with the onward efflux of impassioned thrill. “The world is dark and so is the cosmic brood, expanding into the vastness in my undertaking. The only perception of reality I can make of is death and destruction, not the sugarcoated past.” Which had egged him in desperate search of Kamar-Taj and let himself drown in flickering embers as his mind had found beauty and striking power in his strident mind and soon, his retaliation would come in order as he would sink into no emotions; just logical actions, detaching from his heart as he would excuse himself of self-preservation.

“Every single time, I can’t help myself but to be gravitated towards leaking tormentation, of the loss and regrets, of that self-deprecating burden that I’m the one who is going to continue living, while they turn into petrified and desiccated… ugliness I come across every time I sink beneath the oblivion,” as if he had been carrying someone else’s story as he had been a transmorpher; hideousness into something vicious with a tinge of fervor. “There is, a practice I want to perfect, it keeps backfiring and I can’t quite control the bundled energy contained above my fingertips.” If that could be his calm storm of love contained into a spherical, unpredictable energy with all the unsung serenades; yet it would conducively annihilate all those who got too close.  

___

Much as she predicted, Wanda suspected that much like herself, there was also something burning inside of Kaecilius that dared not be set free, lest he destroy everything in a single act of violent emotion and turmoil. What she wondered was if he feared himself just as she did herself. Indeed, the world was dark, which was precisely why Wanda chose to keep herself at bay. There did come a time where she believed all magic users, all  _ mutants _ should simply fade out and give up their powers for the sake of peace, and even though she had long abandoned such ideologies, she sometimes wondered if the world would be better off without them.

_ No more mutants, _ she thought to herself.  _ Why must we be this way? Born as freaks, only to die as freaks.  _

She had come to accept herself since then, and her journey to understanding and peace had been a mostly successful one. Meeting Kaecilius was a strange turn in her path, even if she was unsure whether or not this turn would be permanent or not. Unsure if she  _ wanted _ this turn to be permanent or not. 

“If you cannot control yourself, you will lose all that you know. Or die. Take it from somebody who knows, Kaecilius. I have my own limits I set for myself, as should you if not to preserve your own life.” She remembered how strong he had been during their battle, how weak he still was, yet still able to knock her straight out of the air at will. He fascinated her, but at the same time, she worried for his well-being. Men like him burned and took everything with them if they did not realize their true strength soon enough.

“Your wife is in a better place now. You have to accept that. You very well may see her again somebody, but…it should not be prematurely. You have a life I am sure she wants you to be living right now. I have come a long way from what i once was, Kaecilius, and in many ways you remind me of myself. Let it go. Learn to breathe…breathe for  _ her. _ And practice your magic. That will always be the best that you are able to do.”

She spoke to him like an old friend. He was funny, the way he seemed to unwillingly coax her to open up and speak. She would not so readily give advice, nor reveal such intimate information about herself to most people. Maybe it was the way sorrow seemed to reflect in his eyes no matter what he spoke of, or how he had come to her like an eager child wanting only to see the world through a new pair of eyes.

“You are the master of your own fate. Be who she would want and find peace within yourself.”


End file.
